


I'm not Lonely

by not_your_aesthetic



Category: Mystrade - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), TJLC - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: After Season Four, Fluff, M/M, Male/Male, Mycroft x Lestrade, Smut, but there are some, m/m - Freeform, mycroft x greg, mystrade, mystrade smut, trying to have almost no spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10045769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_your_aesthetic/pseuds/not_your_aesthetic
Summary: Mycroft doesn't have or need anyone in his life. He might be alone in the relationship department, but he sure as hell isn't lonely. Sherlock knows Mycroft is lonely, but Mycroft is too stubborn to accept or admit it.That is, until he discovers he has an unusual attraction towards the Detective Inspector, Gregory Lestrade. At first, he believes it's just is mind & body deceiving him (accidental erections, mind wandering, etc.), but as time goes on, his infatuation towards Lestrade gets out of hand when he purposely tries correspond their meeting times together, spends too long staring at him when he "thinks" no one is looking, blushes randomly for seemingly no reason, and makes a LOT of accidentally eye contact.The thing is, Mycroft is VERY lonely, and Gregory just happens to be in the same boat. The thing is, how is Mycroft supposed to accept his feelings, when a.) caring is a weakness, b.) No one could ever love him, and c.) even if Lestrade did, Mycroft couldn't tell because every time he got near, Mycroft couldn't think straight?





	1. Admit it... You're Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE ALL Y'ALL ENJOY THIS STORY. I'M IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING IT STILL, AND AM ONLY ON CHAPTER THREE!!! LOVE YOU ALL! <3
> 
> Also, If you see any spelling or grammar errors, please let me know!

“God-dammit, Sherlock!” Mycroft groaned loudly from behind his desk. “You can’t just invite anyone to help you on top secret cases, that’s why they are called Top Secret.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Sherlock replies sarcastically. Mycroft had gotten him another ‘top secret’ case to work on. Obviously ‘top secret’ was just a suggestion, so of course Molly and Greg were helping. John and Sherlock had gotten a call from Mycroft the day before about some missing governor, and they needed help finding him before he talked about some government secrets that shouldn’t be released to the public. Sherlock stopped by his office to gather more data, and obviously trying his hardest to get under his brothers skin. “They aren’t anyone, they actually benefit to my investigations.”

“What could Molly and Greg possibly benefit to an investigation involving a kidnapped governor? Please, enlighten me how a mortician who was previously too infatuated with you to think for herself and a half-witted police chief is going to help you solve this case. I’ve already accepted the doctor, what more do you want.” Mycroft asks exasperated. 

“Hey!” Sherlock yells angrily. “Do NOT speak about them that way! Just because you don’t have people in your life that you care about doesn’t mean you need to treat the people in my life like shit.”

“Oh really?” Mycroft drawls, annoyed. “Already gone soft now have we? Remember Sherlock, caring is not an advantage. Caring never solved the murder, caring never got the job done…” Mycroft said quietly, until he got to the end of his little rant. He stood up, tipped his chair over backwards, and yelled, “Caring is NOT an advantage.”

“Jesus Christ, Mycroft.” Sherlock breathed, exasperated. He slid down into the leather chair in front of his older brother’s desk. He looked up at his brother, worry etched all over his face. 

“What?” Mycroft asked, setting his chair back up. “What?!”

“You just don’t understand.” Sherlock stated quietly. Mycroft sat back in his chair and organized his desk a bit from his little outburst.

“What don’t I understand? I feel as though you don’t understand the point I am trying to make, you used to agree with me until you met Jo—“

“Don’t.” Sherlock interrupted. “Just don’t. I used to believe life was just about the work, and without it, my brain would rot, but that’s just not the case anymore.”

“I… I still don’t get it. Why would a person, one measly, unimportant person change your whole outlook on life?” Mycroft asked.

“First of all. He is important. Second of all, it wasn’t just John, you see.”

“I’m really not following.” Mycroft replied.

Sherlock let out a sigh, and looked at Mycroft again, with that worry stricken face. “Life, brother, is not about how many cases you’ve solved, it’s about how many lives you have saved in the process. Are you following? I am a drug addict. You know, the whole god-dammed world knows, but that didn’t stop me. I used because I was bored, because life was unfulfilling, and meaningless. I was alone and scared, and wanted an escape. All I did was solve mysterious that everyone else was too daft to understand, and when I didn’t I was depressed, so I used. And I used and I used. Drugs were my escape from reality. They were my break from this Hellish world we’ve all grown accustomed to. Boring everyday life, where people say one thing and mean another, lie to your face, treat you like your stupid, whatever. But, one day, after beating some poor bloke’s corpse with a riding to crop for some daft experiment, Molly flirting, me being the rude asshole I am and turning her down, a man walked in. Mike Stamford introduced me to John Watson. Most of this you already know, but you don’t know the whole story. John was, well, like me. I could see it in his face. The way his brow furrowed, his worry lines, his limp. He was alone and scared, just like I was. He wasn’t even angry with me when I started to talk, even though I talk like a complete know-it-all. I examined him, the way he stood, his phone, his attire, and he was shocked. I was used to this, people aren’t nearly as clever as I am, but he didn’t tell me to stop. He… he was amazed. He called me brilliant, Mycroft, brilliant! After years of people asking me to solve their puzzles, I was just being myself, speaking my mind. That’s what they tell you to do in school isn’t it? Be yourself, don’t conform to how other’s want you to be, and that’s what I was doing. They would ask for me, and then they’d tell me to piss off. No one appreciated me, or who I was. They just wanted my brain, this machine that solves mysteries for a living. Who cares who’s behind the name Sherlock Holmes? Who gives a shit? John. That’s who. John Watson. Depressed, alone, scared, like me; but loving, understanding, and compassionate, unlike me, or at least how I was. John was going to commit suicide before he moved in with me. Did you know that? John had post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, a psychosomatic limp, no family, no one he loved or who loved him, no one to call his own, just like me. My whole life changed in a day. All the sudden we were flat mates, mystery solvers, and even friends. The more time we spent together, the more meaningful life became. He showed me how to love. I never thought I would be capable or want to be capable of such a feeling. John saved my life. I was ready to walk off a bridge or put a bullet right in my brain before John came into my life. He saved my life, and in return, I kind of saved his. Yes, I admit, I love John Watson, but I also love Molly, and Greg, they were there when no one else was. They are what got me through the days I was too depressed to function so I overdosed. They are the ones that supported me. The reason I am alive, right now, sitting across from you is because of them. You need something to live for Mycroft, not just something to survive for. You need to be able to talk to someone who likes to listen to you ramble about government and how inferior everyone else is, you need someone who will support you when you get in those states of mind when all you want to do is yell and scream because nothing in life is going right, you need someone who holds your hand, and every time you touch them their pupils visibly dilate. You need someone to save you Mycroft. I just, don’t want you to be alone. You deserve better than that.”

“Oh please, Sherlock.” Mycroft groaned. He had sat quietly, waiting for Sherlock to stop his ranting, and now that he was done, he wanted nothing to do with what he had just said.

“Come on Mycroft, admit it. You are lonely. I don’t want you to be lonely.” Sherlock replied.

“No, I’m perfectly fine the way I am, thanks.” Mycroft said convincingly, even though Sherlock’s words began to sink in. 

“Can at least try, just for me?” Sherlock pleaded. He really was genuinely worried about his brother. 

“No. I can’t. I’ve tried. It never works well.”

“What about Smallwood?”

“How could you possibly know about that? But no… I’m not interested.” 

“You have to start somewhere.” Sherlock sighed. 

“I think it would be best if you leave.” Mycroft whispered. Sherlock’s words were really starting to come into focus now, and he wasn’t sure how he should respond. He needed to think about all that had just happened. He was staring at his lap, without looking up he continued, “I need to be alone for a little while.”

“Mycroft, I wasn’t trying to be harsh, I am just worried that what should have happened to me, could happen to you.” Sherlock replied.

“It’s okay. I’m all right. I just, need some time.” He whispered again.

“Okay, um, I’ll see you tomorrow with John, Molly and Greg okay?”

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock when he said Greg’s name. “Um, yeah, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock left Mycroft alone and went home to John, and then proceeded to relay what had just happened. 

“Mycroft is lonely John. I know it; I can see it in his eyes. I know it because I had that same look a couple years ago.” Sherlock continued. “He is just too proud to admit it.”

“Well, what do you suppose we do?” John asked.

“I don’t know. I just want him to try to find someone. A friend he can confide in, like us.” Sherlock replies, vacantly staring out the window. “I just need him to try.”


	2. Smallwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft leaves the office after blowing up at Anthea because what Sherlock said really got to him. He goes home and thinks about the last time he tried to make a connection, for Sherlock. It seems like every time he tries to have any sort of relationship he always screws it up. No one could ever want a relationship with him, so why try anymore? He doesn't want or need anyone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a Flashback basically from when poor smol Mycroft tried to have a relationship w/ someone from season four. (remember when she gave him her number, yeah, this is kinda playing off of that) But it kinda crashes and burns cause MYCROFT IS NOT STRAIGHT <3

“I’m leaving.” Mycroft stated firmly a few minutes after Sherlock had gone.

“Sir, wait, we still have a few—“ Anthea, his secretary called after him.

“I don’t give a shit what we still have to do. When you become the God-damned British government you can tell me to wait, but until then, fuck off!” Mycroft yelled. He was enraged. Sherlock had caused his brain to doubt itself, and it infuriated him. Normally he knew exactly what was going on, what he was going to do, but now, he was not so sure. 

When he finally arrived home, he hopped into the shower. He was trying to decide what to do and pondered over past decisions. 

Just recently, Smallwood had given him her private number. This did not normally happen so he decided to giver her a call. He pulled into the drive of her private home later in the next week. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but Sherlock had really been pressing that we was alone the past couple weeks. He originally went to prove to Sherlock that he was fine just the way he was, but was really curious about how this ‘date’ would go. It was like an experiment, he was testing himself and his emotions and how Smallwood would react to him. 

He walked up to the door with his umbrella at his side and rang the bell. Smallwood answered the door, looking close to her usual self, but Mycroft could tell she had worked harder today to be more visually appealing. Her hair wasn’t done up in a bun, it was down and had been slightly curled a few hours before hand. She wasn’t wearing her usual attire, a blazer and dress pants, she was wearing a loose-fitted maroon shirt, with 3-quarter length, that was made to be loose wear it needed to be and cinched perfectly. She also had a white shawl wrapped around her. She wore a pair of tighter fitting dark jeans, but not so tight as to call them skinny jeans. They were rolled up just above the ankles, and she wore a pair of casual white flats. She told him to dress casual, so he tried his best. Mycroft’s closet basically consists of suits and vests. He had thrown on a pair of Jeans that his mother had bought for him a few years back thinking he needed more casual attire, which really only ever helped in this instance. He was irritated when she had given them to him, he can shop for himself, but he acted as though he appreciated it. She could see right through his fake thank-yous. “You’ll see.” She said. “This might come in handy.” He wore a white button-down, a navy blazer, and brown dress shoes. This was definitely not something he was used to, but for the experiment, he’d have to get used to it. 

“Come in!” She had said enthusiastically. Her hair bobbed a bit when she turned to let him in. She looked different without her hair up. She seemed relaxed, more approachable (but what did Mycroft care about approachability, he can talk to whoever he damn-well pleases), maybe even pretty.

Mycroft had never been on a date, or a ‘casual chat’, as Smallwood has called it, but Mycroft knew she wanted it to be a date. 

“You look… lovely!” Mycroft said, pausing to think of a word that didn’t seem insincere, since he doesn’t really have a reputation for passing out compliments. He was sincere though; she did look rather intriguing without the blazer and hair-bun. 

“Thank you!” She blushed. “You look incredible. I don’t think I have ever seen you without a suit and tie.”

That’s when it all went downhill. That first compliment was a great start, but as mentioned before, Mycroft was not known for giving compliments. He started to talk about women and their need to look good, how long they take getting ready, and how they only do it to please others, basically being a narcissistic asshole (okay, I see where Sherlock gets it from), not really knowing why, just the need to say something that will shock or impress the present party. She was used to this, but was still offended.

“You do understand that most women want to look good for themselves, don’t you? And yes, I did spend quite a bit longer getting ready today, yes I wanted you to think I looked “lovely”,” She put lovely in air quotes, “What was just uttered from your mouth was very stereotypical and sexist, and since I know who you are, and sort of understand how your brain works, I am going to look over what you just said as nerves.”

“I’m not nervous.” Mycroft stated blatantly.

“Shush, I am giving you a free pass to start over Mycroft.” She replied, walking towards her dining room.

“My apologies, I was sincere when I said you looked lovely,” Mycroft said, trying to salvage how much of an idiot he was being.

After that, she tried to be very understanding, but Mycroft kept being the all brains, no emotions type of person he was, and kept examining her, her house, the way she did things, and making deductions without thinking about how she would take all this. He was rude, and mean, and uncaring; basically the opposite of what he tried to be before. Finally, after Mycroft deduced that she had some sort of bowel movement problem from the placement of supplies in her bathroom he could see from the table, she was done.

“Alright, Mycroft, you need to leave. I really wanted this to work, I do really like you, but I wasn’t expecting this. I guess I should have expected it, knowing who you are, and how you talk to people. I was really looking forward to this, because I like you a lot, but I just can’t. I wanted to have nice time where we could just sit and chat, and maybe share a few things with each other, but obviously you care more about what sort of medicine I take and the size of shoes I wear. I really should have expected this, but I am going to have to ask you to leave. I will not be insulted by you any longer.” She stated blankly.

“What? What did I do? I don’t get it.” Mycroft objected.

“Please Mycroft, don’t make this more difficult than this needs to be,” she stated, her voice wobbling a bit and her eyes getting a little wet.

Mycroft didn’t want to insult her anymore, so he left and got into his car. With Smallwood watching him drive away, he tried to figure out what had just happened.

“Dammit Mycroft. You can’t even talk to one person without offending them…” He thought. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. People take offense to obvious statements so quickly. All Mycroft did was state the facts, and people somehow hate him for that. He wanted to make something work, make a friend, or maybe even more, for Sherlock, not himself. He didn’t need anyone, but Sherlock thought he did. All people ever do is let you down, lie to you, and fill your head with false promises. He can count on himself and that’s all he needs.

 


	3. Detective Inspector Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft begins to contemplate Sherlock, and his friends, and why he is friends with them. After going over a few in his head, he begins to think about D.I. Lestrade. He seems way too normal, but ever-so intriguing. Just thinking about Gregory arouses him, but it mustn't be because of Lestrade. Mycroft could never be attracted to such an ordinary bloke. It must be some sort of chemical malfunction... obviously...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!! - If you're not into Smut/Sketchy stuff, I don't know why you picked this fic first of all, and also, Mycroft is basically really aroused by the thought of Greg and Jerks off. So, if you don't want to read that, Don't read Mycroft's POV in this section, if you want a summary of his POV, just ask in the comments. Hope everyone who reads this is liking it so far!  <3

~John & Sherlock ~

“So you’re saying he went out with Lady Smallwood?” John asked, shocked.

“Well, yes, but I think the only reason was because I kept pestering him. He is always telling me he doesn’t need anyone, and I think his response to my question was to prove to me that he didn’t. Something must have gone wrong when he went to see her. I wouldn’t doubt it had something to do with his mouth.” Sherlock replied.

“His mouth?”

“You know what I mean, him always running his mouth, offending the silly little normal people.” Sherlock answered.

“So, basically, your mannerism?” John said sarcastically.

“Basically.” Sherlock said dryly.

“So, what do you want to do about all this?” John asked after a few seconds of silence.

“I don’t know. I want him to want to find someone, but before he can want that he has to know what it feels like. He needs to get to know someone, and all of the sudden have that moment of pure bliss when you lock eyes or brush hands or something that basically sparks a connection. He needs that connection John. I don’t want him to alone.” Sherlock said mournfully.

“I know you don’t.” John said, pulling him into an embrace.

 

~ Mycroft ~

Mycroft got out of the shower, run down from a long stressful day, even though it was only five o’clock. He dried off and changed back into his dress pants and a white t-shirt. He sat down at his desk and started to gather together and organize his information he had on he case he had assigned to Sherlock and John, which apparently involved everyone he knew.

He got distracted and his mind started to wander to Sherlock’s friends. They were all so normal and ordinary. Why was Sherlock even close to such boring people? He didn’t understand it. Sherlock had gone soft, and somehow found himself infatuated with an army doctor. Of course, John was probably the most interesting out of the group, but he was still average. He looked fairly attractive in societies standards; he was fairly intelligent compared to the vast majority of the British population, but that still didn’t explain Sherlock’s attraction towards him.

Then there was Molly. She had been, and probably still is, in love with him. She was hopelessly infatuated, which made no sense since Sherlock was and still is a total asshole towards her. Of course he cares about her, now that he knows how to thanks to John, but why? She’s particularly ordinary. She doesn’t seem very unique. She’s just a regular mortician that lets Sherlock in to look at dead bodies because she wants him to like her. Of course, Sherlock is different now; he’s not so ignorant, “like Mycroft”, as John would say. “I wish I could understand what goes on in Sherlock’s mind.” He thought

Then there’s Gregory. Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft didn’t really know his story. He’s the detective inspector, always supplying Sherlock with cases. Why is Sherlock even friends with him? He’s so basic and ordinary. There doesn’t seem to be a unique feature about him. 

“If this is the case, and he is so obviously and blatantly normal, then why do I find him so intriguing?” Mycroft thought to himself. “From his peppered grey hair to his perfectly tanned figure. The way his trench coat hung on his body, creating the perfect silhouette…”

“NO! Stop it!” Mycroft shouted aloud. 

“What the actual fuck…” He muttered.

Mycroft had no idea what had just happened. Where had his mind just gone? He hardly even knew the man. Plus, he was happy by himself. He didn’t need anyone, not that he was thinking of Gregory that way at all. He was only noticing the he was very attractive for his age according to many social standards he had picked up on. Somehow, his excuse was not very convincing to his mind since his pants became ever so slightly tighter. 

“God-Dammit…” Mycroft muttered. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

He needed to relieve the pressure before he went to bed. He needed to sleep. He had been working late every night for the past two weeks, and he needed a break. The pressure was becoming too much to handle, not that it was because of Lestrade. Of course it wasn’t, Mycroft could never be attracted to anyone, let alone him. He was too simple, too normal. This must have been some sort of Jinx. His body was just playing tricks on him, and he needed to relieve himself. 

He walked into his bedroom and took off his trousers, so he was only in his pants and his shirt. He sat on his bed and started to palm himself through his pants. 

“Jesus…” He breathed. He pulled his pants down to his knees, so that his semi-hard member was visible. He touched his exposed member and let out a small sigh. He lay back on his bed, propped up a bit by pillows and the headboard. He started to stroke himself, starting slowly, but gaining speed as he went.

He let out a small moan as he gained speed. His dick was fully hard and throbbing by now. It wasn’t intentional, but as he was pumping, his head started to fill with thoughts of Lestrade. He started imagining what his perfectly tanned body would look like without that long coat of his. He wondered what he would feel like if it were Gregory with him right now. He tried to imagine what he would feel like, what he would taste like. He let out a stream of quiet pants and moans, getting louder as he neared his climax. All of these thoughts were arousing him immensely, and he was on the verge of his release.

“Gregory!” He moaned as he came into his hand. 

“Fuck.” He stated as he saw the mess he had made. His maid was out that day, thank goodness, but that meant he had to take care of the sheets. He slipped his pants back up to his waist. He stripped the sheets and threw them into a laundry shoot down the hall of his room. He put clean sheets back on the bed, and hopped back into the shower to rinse himself off.

As he lay down to sleep he kept questioning his mind, and started to get angry. “Why did my mind all of the sudden revert back to Gregory Lestrade when I was feeling pleasure? It doesn’t make sense. I cannot, do not, and will not have feelings for Detective Inspector Lestrade. He is an ordinary police detective, and I work for the British government. I don’t need and don’t want anyone in my life. We have almost never talked, and when we do, it’s about my brother. If this is true, then why can I not stop thinking about him?” He thought.

He decided to sleep on the situation and hopefully clear his mind.


	4. The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Mycroft relaying the case to the other four, and him getting all flustered cause Greg is there. Enjoy! Nervous Mycroft gives me immense life.

Mycroft showed up at the office early the next morning and noticed Anthea, his secretary, wasn’t in yet.

“I need to remember to apologize to her for what happened yesterday,” Mycroft thought. He was a total asshole. Sherlock’s words had really gotten to him, about him being lonely and all. Then there was Lestrade. He still had no idea what to think about what had happened last night.

Mycroft spent the next couple hours scrambling to get everything done and caught up with what he had missed yesterday evening. It took a lot of focus and time, but eventually he got everything done. It became exceptionally tedious when his mind kept wandering to what Sherlock had said and his actions the night before.

Sherlock and his group had been notified to meet at Mycroft’s office at three. Around 2:45 Sherlock and John walked in hand-in-hand teasing each other about some stupid case that had happened a few months back. Molly showed up a few minutes later.

While Sherlock was busy teasing his brother, John and Molly started chatting.

“To be honest, I don’t really know why I’m here.” Molly said. “I mean, I have nothing against helping Sherlock, it’s actually quite thrilling sometimes, but normally it’s in the morgue, not out running around and having meetings with the British government.”

“Well, sometimes Sherlock likes a separate pair of eyes to look over things, too see other’s point of views.” John replied.

“As nice as that sounds, I think I’m only here to get under Mycroft’s skin. I don’t know him much, but I do know that Sherlock likes to irritate him, and he did stress that this is top secret, and I’m fairly sure he didn’t need or want my help.” Molly laughed.

About 10 minutes later Lestrade barged in, out of breath and a bit red in the face.

“Sorry, sorry!” He sputtered, a bit flustered. “It was hectic at the yard and I couldn’t leave until the last minute. I tried to get here as fast I could!”

“That’s… that’s quite alright Detective Lestrade.” Mycroft stuttered a bit. 

“You can just call me Greg.” The detective said, starting to relax a bit after rushing into Mycroft’s office.

Mycroft’s cheeks also started to become a bit pink, but not because he was out of breath. He was looking at Lestrade, and the confident way he held himself. With his long coat and his peppered hair. “Um, yes… come in, make yourselves comfortable.”

Sherlock was looking at Mycroft suspiciously. Why was he all of the sudden flustered. What had happened that made him stutter? 

Before Sherlock could finish his deduction, Mycroft interrupted his thoughts. “Well, I am sure Sherlock has explained why you are all here.”

“Not really.” Molly said.

“Yeah, I don’t really know what we’re doing here, but I’m willing to do whatever.” Greg said nonchalantly.

“Well, Sherlock made it very clear to me he wanted you all to help him on this case, and I guess I’ll just have to trust him.” Mycroft opened up a few folders on his desk and took out some notes. “Well then. Let’s get started. This man, Edward McClain is a very important politician. He works with me for that matter.”

“More like for him…” Sherlock whispered to John, who snickered a bit.

“Anyways,” Mycroft continued, glaring at Sherlock. Greg chuckled a bit and smiled at Mycroft, which made his face get even more flushed. “This man was last seen at his home in Northern London. Normally, I would just let the police dig something up, but this man has very important government information. This is information that cannot be leaked or spread around. I am afraid that this needs to be a top priority.”

Mycroft continued to explain the case fluently; yet stern, making sure he got his point across. After relaying all the information, and John trying to scribble down the important information, he asked “Any questions?”

“I still don’t really know what I’m doing.” Molly questioned. “Normally I just help when Sherlock needs things analyzed or there’s a corpse involved.”

“Well, Sherlock insisted the rest of you be here, so he’s in charge now.” Mycroft replied.

“Alright, Molly, you can go back to work, I might show up later with some DNA samples I’ll need you to test. Lestrade, I’m going to need a warrant for the house, and I might need someone there just in case I need some backup and another eye. John, I am going to need you with me as well.” Sherlock said swiftly.

“I better be off then.” Molly said before excusing herself.

“Alright Sherlock, I trust you to solve this with as little collateral damage as possible.”

“I make no promises.” Sherlock said smugly. “Let’s go John, Lestrade.”

“Have a good afternoon Mr. Holmes.” Greg said before being rushed out by Sherlock.

“Good-day Gregory.” Mycroft said, just loud enough for Lestrade to hear him as he was stumbling to catch up with Sherlock’s speed walking.

Mycroft caught himself staring at Lestrade’s arse as he sped down the hallway. 

“Shit.” Mycroft said, cursing himself for getting so flustered. Then got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taking so long to update! It's been like a month right? School has been insane, and I'm in a million extracurriculars! I kind of have a plan where I want the rest of this story to go, but I'm not 100% sure yet! Keep leaving me comments and ideas about what you guys suggest, or your opinions! I really appreciate it! <3


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